


To Shield the Stars

by musingsofashley



Series: Supermarvelnatural [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Bucky as Sam, Multi, Natasha as Castiel, Nicky Fury instead of Bobby, Pierce as Lucifer, Red Skull as Alistair, Steve as Dean, Steve/Bucky/Natasha - Freeform, snippets in the verse until I can go after this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:59:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musingsofashley/pseuds/musingsofashley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers and James "Bucky" Barnes are hunters of the supernatural, inseparable since early childhood when their paths crossed that of Hunter Nick Fury. Now, working with the secret group of hunters loosely called SHIELD, they work together to save people and hunt down evil, while facing whatever fate throws at them. They just weren't expecting cosmic and demonic forces to become part and parcel of the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot (Reboot)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [actualmenacebuckybarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=actualmenacebuckybarnes).



> This was created for actualmenacebuckybarnes over on tumblr. I saw on her list of possible fusion likes a Supernatural verse and dear LORD, all the ideas. I have so many more and I just don't know how to get them into words yet. There's a lot of world manipulating- and building that needs to go into this still. I want to take on so many of the beloved characters.

Bucky furiously shook out the a ring of salt onto the floor, steady trickle of blood dripping out of his nose. Steve, despite being sickly and feverish , stood guard with an iron poker they had found by the old fireplace, keeping careful watch on all corners of the room. In the distance, one could hear screams echoing through the orphanage, adults shouting and rushing the few other children out as quickly as they could.

No one would come for them, however. Bucky frightened them, the way he saw things no one else did or woke up screaming in the night, speaking of horrors happening far away. And Steve, Steve was a drain on resources, constantly sick and painfully thin. The two boys were inseparable- might as well be brothers, for as close as the two had become. No, thought Steve- clutching precious iron in his sweating hands- no one would come for them.

Buck collapsed into the circle, whispering facts as quickly as possible to Steve while clutching his head in pain. Iron, salt, burn the bones. Steve didn't know how this gift/curse of Bucky's worked, but as the first nightmarish figure flickered into life in the icy cold room, Steve was only too thankful for the mantra spilling from his friend's lips. He swung viciously with the iron poker, the ghost dissipating in a shower of sparks. Carefully edging into his own set of circles, Steve quickly moved in and out, attempting to hold off the spirits filling the room. 

A child is not meant to perform such feats, however. He tired, quickly hopping into the one circle Bucky occupied, hoping the barrier would hold. For a moment, it seemed it would. The ghosts howled at the borders of their circle, repelled by the salt. The men and women's faces were twisted into ghoulish masks of hate and grief, fingers raking the air like claws, as they tried to find a weak point. Suddenly, one ghost in particular directed its attention to an old chest of drawers, staring at it fixedly. The two boys watched in slowly dawning horror as it began to rattle ominously and shift, beginning to slide slowly across the room towards them. They clasped onto each other, not daring to move even as it gained speed, even as it came closer and closer and-

The ghosts shrieked in agony, fire alighting upon their forms. The chest of drawers halted in its tracks, the source of power directing it snuffed out into crumbling wisps of ash and wind. An imposing dark-skinned man stormed into the room, black eye patch covering one eye and shot gun firmly clasped in one gloved hand. He was brought up short at the sight of the boys huddled in the ring of salt.

“What in the world are you two still doing here?! Why aren’t you with all the other civilians who hightailed it out of here?”

He lowered his gun, nonplussed at the sight of these two kids surrounded by salt and clutching iron, wondering what in the world was going on.

“They wouldn’t have come back for us and we aren’t stupid. No way were we getting chased by those things. Bucky said to hide in here and we made ourselves safe.”

Steve stared defiantly up at the older man, arm wrapped tightly to his woozy friend. The man just shook his head incredulously, dropping his shotgun down to rest the stock of the shotgun on the floorboards next to his right boot. He looked carefully around the room, assessing the carefully applied rings of salt and then looked over the two sick kids before him, noting the pained features of the darker haired boy.

"Well, hell. What am I supposed to do now?"


	2. No Rest for the Wicked (Reboot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those familiar with Supernatural, the character Dean Winchester had a sojourn in Hell at the end of Season 3, due to selling his soul to save his brother. Since Steve is replacing Dean in this AU, he faces a similar fate. This is late in that sentence and we are about to witness the hand of fate..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Red Skull replaces Alistair in my story. I am having way too much fun finding ways to link up these two separate universes.

Steve’s world had narrowed down to the rack and the cacophony of the wailing of damned souls. The Red Skulled demon across from him was tracing gloved fingers down the flesh of a writhing soul, promising her a swift release from torture and the torments of the Pit. After ninety years of seeing this creature’s game, however, Steve knew it for the lie it was. The Red Skull revels in pain and death, drawing out a soul’s torment only to start it anew the moment it was over. Steve, of all souls, knew this for truth. Today, after all, is the moment he takes his turn in breaking.

Every day he has spent in Hell, the demons torturing him have fed him the same line.   
“Take up the knife and the pain stops.” The fact of the matter is clear. All one has to do to cease being tortured is to become the torturer yourself. He’s refused every single time, taking everything they threw at him, but a soul can only take so much. Everything in him that believes in striving for the right course of action, in upholding justice, balks at what he is about to do. His entire body seems to flinch away from the blade being pressed into his hand by the grinning fiend before him, but God… he’s just so tired.

He doesn’t hear the roaring of wind in an otherwise windless plane of existence. He steps towards the pleading form on the table and doesn’t see holy fire begin to brew like thunderclouds across the burnt excuse of a sky. It is only when the blade first kisses skin and just barely presses in, drawing forth a few beads of blood, and tears begin to trail down his face, that he hears it. A voice that resonates through the dark and evil spaces of the Pit and carries with it light and cleansing flame.

“A righteous man has no need for the torturer’s knife, Steve Rogers. Nor is this place meant for you.”

The implement of torture slips almost soundlessly from his suddenly numb fingers, his face turned beseechingly towards the fast approaching corona of light and heat. Beside him, the demon snarls and rages at the newcomer but dares not come any closer, repelled by the presence of divinity in such a profane place.

“Please”, Steve whispers, though what he is asking for he no longer knows. He just knows to ask. “Please.”

Wings of vibrant red and black sweep around him like a loving mother’s arms, shielding him from the rising din of Hell. The last words he hears, over the rising tide of wind in his ears and strange voices singing _Holy, Holy, Holy_ , are possibly the sweetest ones he would ever hear.

“Steve Rogers, you are saved.”


	3. Lazarus Rising (Reboot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we have the official introduction of Natasha, angel of the lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to picture this in the interrogation setting we saw in the first Avengers movie, but with a blending of clothing elements from Supernatural and the second Captain America film. I do have an explanation behind the trenchcoat in this verse, but I am unsure if it will be brought up in these little snippets or in the much larger ficlet that will come up later.

“This is a stupid idea.” Fury finished spraying the last of the protective symbols on the support beams of the warehouse’s second floor, eyeing the wide open spaces in disgust. “Not only are we summoning something we don’t know the identity of- other than its name- we are in this shithole of a place. What are you thinking?”

Steve sighed and dropped the last of the weapons they might need on the low table to his side, carefully setting a stake next to his machete and demon-killing knife. 

“Look, where else are we supposed to go? This is the closest space that we could use for this kind of thing.ils, And we couldn’t really secure the ground floor. We’ll just have to make this work.” 

The older man scowled at him and threw his hands up in the air. “Fine! But if this roof collapses on top of my head, I am haunting your overgrown ass.”

Steve smiled as he turned away. “Fair enough.”

Fury, despite all his bluff and bluster, was methodical and calm as he doled out the summoning ingredients in the spell bowl, carefully chanting the summoning spell to bring forth the creature that had saved Steve. For whatever crazy thing they would be going against, the fact that its name was Natasha blew Steve’s mind. Perhaps it was some higher ranking demon or some run of the mill monster that had found a way into hell. He wouldn’t have long to wait, though. The chanting ceased and both men waited with baited breath, straining their hearing for any sound of movement. 

Nothing.

Nothing… happened. Fury paced and fumed, turning spell pages while Steve dug thin grooves into the wood of the table with his knife as an hour went by to no avail. 

“Are you sure you did the spell correctly”, Steve asked?

If looks could kill, the glare Fury shot him would have put the younger man six feet under. He raised his hands up in a placating gesture, when suddenly lightning flashed outside, followed by the loud rolling crash of thunder. Both men jumped as the lights in the building began to flicker, both reaching for their guns, while the sound of wings fluttering filled the air. When the lights ceased acting strangely and the sound of rain falling became audible to both men, they became aware of a new presence in the room. Both whirled around as one to face the once empty chair that had been left near safety railing. A woman was sprawled there, red hair hiding her face as she her hands hung limply at her sides. A long tan trench coat hung from her shoulders, clashing against her striped t-shirt and black skinny jeans. 

 

She appeared to be human at first glance, but the hair was standing on the back of Steve’s neck just being in her vicinity, the smell of thunderstorms permeating the air. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Fury looked just as unnerved as he felt, underneath his surly demeanor. His hands were tightening in ever-increasing increments on his gun, while the set of his mouth was even more grim than usual. Yeah, Steve thought, this woman is definitely not human. 

“Who are you,” Steve demanded, watching as that bowed head cocked slightly to the side, much like an animal listening to some distant noise on the wind. She raised her head ever slowly, red hair parting like a curtain to reveal unearthly green eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, was deeper than expected, a slight accent trailing around the edges.

“I am Natasha.”

“Yeah”, Steve said, aiming his gun with greater care. “We kind of got that. What are you?”

She stood, coat suddenly imposing on her form as she stretched her arms out wide. Lights being to burst over the hunters’ heads, which ordinarily would have had them shooting first and asking questions later, but they were frozen in place by what was occurring in front of them. For a moment, the impression of great wings filled the empty space behind her, outlined in the falling sparks and broken glass from above, Despite himself, Steve found his grip on his gun slacken. The light show ended, but the afterimage of wings and a faint memory of a voice amidst fire remained.

She stood defiant before them, eyes cool as she looked upon the two men standing before her. "I am the one who gripped you right and raised you from perdition."


	4. The Rapture (Reboot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a scene we never were given in Supernatural, but that I wanted to explore with Natasha in this fusion verse. I have her starting off as rebellious against her orders from the get-go, and her superiors have taken her from her vessel- a woman named Natalia- to re-educate "or rather attempt or reprogram her" in to being the perfect little foot soldier, who will direct the boys into doing what they wish. From there, we enter a remake of a scene we were given, but with definite differences.

She fought, straining and clawing at the faces

They tore at her grace—tried to stamp out the burgeoning warmth she felt for the two men lingering down below on Earth. She snarled at the elders, clinging defiantly to her newfound emotions, determined to keep hold of this spark. They laid waste to the cool landscape of her thoughts and set her afire. Purged, bound by holy words until she was consumed by mantras of _Holy Holy Holy_ and _sister, remember_ , she screamed in helpless fury as they tried to reshape her into her previous mold. But she refused to be changed.

Two men waited for her down below, blond and brunette with soulful eyes and chips on their shoulders the size of the world. But they stood for good things, beautiful things, and she would be damned if she lost sight of why she was sent to them now. She dug deep, buried her emotions where the elders- alien to human thought as they were- wouldn’t be able to find them. When the purge was over, when the cleansing fire was sloughed off and they deemed her re-educated, they set her loose, telling her to find a new vessel- to do God’s work.

They didn’t know that she would be making plan’s of her own.

Below was chaos and demons. Natalia was bleeding on the ground from a gut wound and the boys were struggling in chains, trying to reach her former vessel while Clint came charging from the other side of the room, loosing arrow after iron-tipped arrow. Natasha called out to him, pulling at the thin ties of bloodline lingering in his veins, and bid him listen.

_Will you help me? Will you help me save them, save her? I need your permission. I just need-_

His head jerked up, distrust of her thrown violently aside as his answer roared down the shaky channel between them. _Yes!_

She flooded into a body that was never quite meant for her, hearing the strain in the bones and muscles, but he welcomed her with open arms, seeing her clearly for the first time. She let him see the fullness of her plan, let him know the truth of what was to come, and while she was met with anger and weariness, he did not turn her away. He bid her welcome, gave her singed wings shelter inside his rib cage, and allowed her to move in concert with his form. Together, they took down the demons surrounding the area, making their way to where Natalia lay, dying.

"You have a choice", Natasha whispered to the red-haired woman, molding the male voice to her words and needs. "You can let go and be at peace and leave Clint to be my vessel, or we can walk this path together once more. If you go now into death, you will remain as you are. If you choose me, both of our existences will be constantly compromised."

Natalia grinned up at her with red-rimmed teeth. "Is that really anything new? Let my cousin get on with his hunting, girl. You and I can kick butt perfectly fine together."

She reached out gently and touched shaking fingertips to his face, tracing his features one last time.

"I say yes."

\-----  
Months later, when her grace is fading and Natasha is becoming more human, Clint tosses her a drink and looks at her carefully.

“I still see her in you, you know”. Clint smiled at her, wistful.

Natasha looked back at him, a fond distant expression on her face as she took in his features.  
“We aren’t really separate people any more. So much of our boundaries have blurred… neither she or I are quite the people we were when this all began.”  
He tilted his head, looking up at her in curiosity.  
“Then what are you?”  
She smiled, something distinctly human flickering behind those alien eyes.  
“Something new.”


	5. An Angel's Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene created to show more of the relationship between the three main characters, with some basis from the au canon.

Natasha stood careful watch in the center of the room, street lamps barely peeking through the heavy curtains of the motel window. Her two charges tossed and turned fitfully, both haunted by nightmares and ill visions this evening. 

She hesitated, looking at their tossing forms out of the corners of her eyes before silently making her way over to the two double beds. Steve’s was first; she laid gentle fingertips against his brow, grace rustling ethereal feathers against the nebulous heat of memories of Hell and torture and whispering them away. His contorted features tightened just a bit more, briefly, before smoothing away, his body grown lax beneath the comforter he lay beneath. She allowed a brief note of her true voice to hum through, just for a moment, to finish soothing away the nightmares- to catch hold of the self that had been lost below and help it sleep- and stepped smoothly aside, content in the knowledge that her charge would sleep deeply the rest of the night. The other man would not be as easily put to rest

Bucky’s attempt at sleeping was much more disturbed, another presence lurking in his mind. She nearly recoiled when she felt the distant presence of the Morningstar, but laid her hand upon his sweaty brow nonetheless, determined to do what she could. She did not slip in delicately this time, seeing no point when the enemy was one who was vast and dwarfed her. She brought her grace down like a divine hammer, utilizing the element of surprise and audacity that the Devil would not expect from one so young as she, and did her best to block his voice from Bucky’s mind with the sound of her own. Bucky spasmed on the bed, his back lifting in a perfect arch as his mind was caught between two angels- one fallen and the other falling. She blared equal parts praise and demand on all frequencies, boosting him up when he had been so close to giving in before.

“Keep saying No. Nothing is worth it. We are here. We are here.”

She kept up the mantra, grace stinging as the Devil began to coil and rage in Bucky’s mind, gearing up to run a counter-offensive, when suddenly Bucky threw great stone walls up in his mind, caging the serpent for the time being. She allowed her voice to gentle to a hum, as she had for Steve, lulling and sweet, running a hand now through the long hair resting beneath her hand. For a moment, it seemed he had awoken, turning his face into her palm and breathing out a shuddering breath, almost as if in relief.  
But then his breathing slowed and grew deep, lips parting against the flesh of her thumb as he drew in ever calmer breaths, and fell back into much sweeter dreams.

Natasha was left alone, silent sentinel once more. Unseen to mortal eyes were the fiery feathers strewn in pathways from each of her charge's beds. Easing their sleep was draining more and more of her grace. Integration between her and her vessel was occurring at a more alarming pace, her and Natalia becoming one individual now in a way that would have been more alarming, if it was not so inevitable. Both of them were committed now, for different reasons, to this cause. Natalia wanted to help, was in it for her friend and cousin Clint who had faced evil unbeknownst to her for years. She believed in the angel, was helping her keep some semblance of strength even now. Natasha, after all of those years of being called a black widow amongst her kind, had found her purpose and a unit with whom she belonged. For whom she would sacrifice what made her strong.

She was losing her wings, becoming mortal, and she could not bring herself to care. They needed her still and she would remain until the day they did not.


	6. Swan Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rescue of Bucky from his own Hell, but things do not always go to plan.

She crashes through the layers of Hell, wings cutting through the air like scythes as she pushes her vessel to its limits. What new strength she has been given must be used now, when the time is at its most perfect, to pull Bucky from the Devil’s grasp. The deeper she goes, the colder and more biting the air becomes, feathers on her fiery wings frosting over despite the speed at which she is flying.  
Natasha reaches the cage, alighting on the uppermost bars made of bone and celestial intent, only to see a sight that would turn her stomach. Bucky’s soul was curled in on itself in a fetal position, left arm strangely transformed into a metallic state, his old star tattoo blazing red-hot upon its surface. This was disconcerting enough, by itself. But curling around his shaking form was Lucifer in the form of a monstrous Hydra, pulling at him and hissing insidiously into his ears. His cold scales scraped and dragged across the trembling soul’s skin, leaving behind raw trails in their wake, while fearsome claws screeched across the metal surface of Bucky’s transformed arm, carving out ridges and joints into its surface.

Enraged and throwing caution to the wind, Natasha darted through the space before her into the cage, nothing written into its binding in place to stop her. The Devil roared with its many mouths as it caught sight of her, quickly shifting to clutch greedily at its prize in one clawed hand. Natasha was quick, however, grabbing ahold of her friend by his new metal hand yanking him from the Hydra’s clutches. Bucky began to latch onto her, a disbelieving smile on his face but… relief had come too soon.

The Devil laughed, his many faces jeering at the fleeing pair. “Do you truly believe you can come here and take him from me? From ME?”

One mighty blow of his wings across Bucky’s back and suddenly he was fragmenting, crumbling in her grasp and slowly- and then more rapidly- falling back as little pieces of soul into the grasp of the Hydra below. Natasha cried out and tried to catch the falling lights with her wings, bring them in to her chest, but the wind from the Devil’s wings blew her from the cage.

Looking down in horror as he coiled around his growing pile of shards, she curled in on what she could of the man in her arms and put all her remaining strength into her wings, flinging herself towards the surface. Rage and grief clouded her vision, making her blind to the pieces of Hell that stripped feathers and grace from her wings and left them as a trail behind her. She flew on, clinging desperately to her precious, flickering cargo, taking him back home to Steve.

Back topside, however, the question remained as to whether he she had saved him at all. He lay sleeping, body changed in noticeable ways (metal arm gleaming in the fading sunlight) and did not wake, no matter how much they called his name. Over the course of the next several days, Steve and Natasha took turns standing watch over him and seeing to the body’s needs while it lay slumbering, worrying over Bucky’s state of health. Both were hoping that Lady Luck would, just this once, be on their side; that the Devil’s final blow had not done as much damage as they feared. Natasha dared not check in case the consequences of the procedure proved damaging. Both decided to take the prudent course of action and wait.

It was in the afternoon of the fifth day that Bucky stirred, sitting up and rubbing his new hand across his face. For a moment, Natasha felt only joy, but at Steve’s query of “Bucky?”, ice as cold as that of the cage filled her heart. A stranger’s eyes looked back at them, confused and devastatingly lacking in their former warmth. The damage had been far greater than she had even dared believe. She had brought back the body, a consciousness, but as three words left beloved lips, she knew that she had ultimately failed in her mission. Her friend was still in that cage. Still suffering. Three words, and both her heart and Steve’s were broken.

“Who is Bucky?”


End file.
